


Lasa Ghilan, Amatus

by a_prince



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Corypheus Dream-Fucker, Dorian is not a nice man, Fluff and Angst, M/M, On Haitus, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11281968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_prince/pseuds/a_prince
Summary: ***Major Plot Revisions, On Haitus--"Give Guidance, Love"Olivière Lavellan had been shoved into a position of grand responsibility. Somehow, things had been going well - though it was hard keeping his self-aware thoughts at bay. At times his knife-ears reminded him of who he was, but in others, he was so comfortable with the humans that he forgot he was any different. His struggles with his heritage return after his journey through the Fade - in the form of strange, euphoric dreams.  The Inquisitor realizes he must deal with his past head-on if he's going to beat Corypheus.Dorian Pavus, the runaway Tevinter, had made the Inquisition his new home. For once he could let the stigma of his homeland go and pursue good changes in the world. He hadn't put traversing through the Fade on his Inquisition bucket list, but he'd done it, per request of the lovely Inquisitor, and he could feel the Maker personally kicking him in the ass. No amount of wine could remove the dread he felt every night he woke from another nightmare. Had everyone else been given this suffering since the Fade? The Inquisitor seemed just cheeky, despite the circumstances. At least he had their playful flirting to look up to.





	Lasa Ghilan, Amatus

“In a dream, I saw myself floating. Floating... as if I was submersed in water.” 

“And what of your surroundings, Lethallin?”

“At first, it truly seemed like I was underwater. A empty, sapphire-blue space. But then, the world constructed itself in front of me. I saw my mother, herding our clan’s Halla in the forest. Next, I saw my father, pulling a cart full of leathers, meats, devices - anything the clan had requested - pulling it up to my mother and the Elvhen who had gathered - quite excitedly - around him and the goods he carried. He stood out amongst the elves, a tall human with broad shoulders.” The elf chuckled and started touching the illuminating shard on the other elf’s desk. 

“So your dream was a manifestation of your past? Perhaps your inner conflict led spirits to create this world, so you could experience it once more.”

“No, not my past. This was before I was born. Perhaps even the day they decided to conceive me.” He tenderly eyed the shard as if he saw it in his vision, too. “It was pleasant to see, really. Thank those spirits if you ever come in contact with them. I had never seen them so happy before.” 

\--

Olivière felt so content that he could sleep in the herd of Halla. He could pick up Elfroot and consume it whole. He placed lotus and spindleweed in his unkempt chestnut hair, he danced under the waterfall. 

Then he heard the sound of wheels against rocky ground, and he left his happy spot in nature to go searching for the shem and his cart of goods. There he was, pale-skinned, brown hair that reflected nearly orange in sunlight, a broad and toned body, maneuvering himself and his cart through the grassy terrain, knowing it too dangerous to follow a trail straight to the Elven clan. 

Once the cart stopped near the Elven woman, an almond-eyed, tan-skinned elf with a flat nose and round face, her face lit up and she greeted the shem with a smile. The shem smiled back, laughing at being bombarded by her hoard of noisy Halla, rubbing all the heads of the animals he could reach. 

“I have the goods for you,” He said, and holstered himself up the cart to retrieve some buffalo leather and little trinkets. 

The elf eyed the goods in quiet curiosity, then reached out to touch one of the wooden trinkets. “What is this?” She had a noticeable Dalish accent. 

“A Ferelden toy soldier. I’m not sure what your people would do with these, but I was hoping you would take them. A present, from me,” The elf was oblivious to the soft blush growing on the shem’s cheeks. 

“Ah! I see, okay,” The woman smiled up at him, taking the toy soldier. She looked at it for a second before a Halla bumped her knee and she dropped the trinket into her little shoulder bag. “What is it you want, ma vhenan?” She said, rubbing its head.

Olivière smiled at the scene. He felt overjoyed, astonished, and a bit weirded out, all at once. It was a moment he could only have imagined as it was retold by the fire or during a meal. Seeing it now, he felt it was sweet, syrupy, the aura in the air positively affected by the budding love of the two young adults. He heard sounds of children squealing and adult voices speaking Dalish, and he looked up to see a group of elves approaching the human. 

The shem distributed the goods to the adults, and when they gestured for him to bring the cart in, he pulled it deeper into their encampment, the woman, the children, and the Halla following. 

Olivière couldn’t see much of what was going on anymore, but he didn’t move. He sat there, taking everything in. He closed his eyes and let the euphoria seep all throughout his body. It felt marvelous being here, seeing everyone so blithe. What he could give to return to his clan...To see the smiling faces of his mother and father again… a symbol of peace between two peoples. 

Why had he been forced into his role, far away from his kin, where everything was so hostile? Why had the Elven gods - or the Maker, he wasn’t sure what he believed in nowadays - place him near all these other shem? He paused his monologue. Humans and elves were both capable of good and evil, he reminded himself. The people he had met - Josephine, Cullen, Leliana... Dorian... They were all such good people. There was nothing his optimism could have prepared him for this fact. And yet he felt lost. The more and more the Inquisition grew, the smaller his sense of self became. Olivière sighed deeply, and let this body relax, until it grew heavy and weak. Eventually, everything faded to black. 

When he opened his eyes, he was in his quarters. Another dream. He lay there for a moment, thinking. It wasn’t right that he was feeling so content waking up in the morning. Not after what had happened nights ago in Adamant, nor what he now had to face in Halamshiral. He rolled over and squinted at the sunlight entering the room from his porch windows. Thinking of his past now was frivolous. His Keeper had sent him to the Conclave, and he had proved worthy enough to hail the position of Inquisitor. If no one else here made such a fuss about it, why should he? 

He had friends who could understand. Friends like Solas, Sera, even Dorian. Olivière had agreed with Sera that the righteous way of being elf was not going door-to-door inquiring if they believed in their lord and savior Mythal. Still, he found comforts in elves like Solas when he was reminded too much of his enlarged ear shape - an occurrence that happened often during trips in Orlais. As for Dorian, he found the company of another man - not Elvhen - who had experienced some sort of singularity to be quite refreshing. Refreshing, these friends were, when they weren’t shouting at each other. 

The hostile noise beneath him grew into cursing in several different languages, and Olivière sprang up out of his bed. He hurriedly slid on a garment, and ran downstairs.

“Speak of Corypheus!” A hand grabbed Olivière’s arm just as he opened his door and pulled him towards the group of people circling one of the tables. “An elf will eventually answer your call if you bark at it enough.” 

Dorian let go of Olivière, stared at him with an austere look that might’ve hid guilt underneath, then returned his attention to the group. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine began, putting on a friendly smile. “We are speaking about your next endeavor, in Halamshiral. I understand Leliana already discussed this with you.”

Olivière nodded, letting Dorian’s abhorrent comment slide. “She briefed me about the Venatori, they were planning to assassinate Empress Celene.”

Josephine nodded. “Yes. The plans so far are going smoothly, however Dorian... He…” She looked around the room with a smirk and everyone who had gathered either rolled their eyes or scowled.  
“He brought… an interesting problem to the table…”

“Could you expect anything less from a Tevinter?” Cassandra spit out, glaring at the mage. “This conversation is frivolous. I should not even be here.” She stood up, plate of food in hand, and marched away, grunting dissatisfied comments. 

“Well, Sparkler has gotten some sense in him. Fashion is not something discussed at the war table,” Varric said, raising an eyebrow. “Or is it? I would love to picture Cullen and Josephine marveling over the latest fashion trends in Antiva-”

“Right, yes, get on with it. Call me the evil Tevinter, say I’m complaining. It was a mere question, really, a simple inquiry to the lovely Josephine, and you all made the choice to butt in.” Dorian glowered at the Seeker’s back with strong contempt. 

“Mmm, but I doubt anything we suggest will actually be set in motion, darling.” Vivienne had turned her attention to her nails, rather than fully implementing herself into the breakfast conversation. “Anything that you suggest, anyway.” 

Josephine had returned to her diplomatic smile and looked at the bewildered Inquisitor. “Dorian wanted to know what we were wearing to the ball.”

All the suspense dissolved at that moment, and Olivière took a step back, smiling. He eyed the mage. “It’s lovely to know that we can argue over things like this, too.” 

“Of course! The Inquisitor’s work is never done. Right after escaping the Fade we have to get our behinds ready to sweep the Empire of Orlais off their feet. I’m just helping our cause the way I know best - besides my knowledge in magical theory - and in winning over the hearts of men...” Dorian made a side-glance at Olivière.

“We received several suggestions.” Josephine had actually written notes and was reading off her board. “Sera suggested...plaidweave quilts, while Cassandra suggested accents of gold and darker colors. She said that placing the skull of a dragon you’ve killed somewhere on your outfit would both show how influential you are as Inquisitor and distract from the fact that you’re an elf,” She related, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

“I happily disregarded that, because an elf’s natural beauty needs to be displayed clearly, just like any human’s,” said Dorian. Olivière wished he knew if that were sarcasm.

“Deep Inside of her is her inner Nevarran, waiting to pop out at moments like these.” Varric snickered, shaking his head.

“I do not think what we’ve decided on will tickle any of your fancies, but it is the best our Inquisition could offer with our funds. Dorian, if you feel so obliged as to add Tevinter accents on your attire, feel free, and if Cassandra chooses to put a skull somewhere on hers, I say let her.” Leliana delivered.

“Are we done, now? I want to think about the ball when we get there.” Cullen had been standing there appearing very uncomfortable, arms folded tightly against his chest armor. 

“Fair enough,” Dorian picked his wine chalice off the table and turned towards the stairs. “If anybody needs me, I will be up in the library, lost in a book and a bottle of wine. Maker knows I need it after last night…” He uttered the last words, then took his leave.

Josephine turned to Olivière. “Any matters you feel need to be addressed, approach me, Inquisitor.” Her smile carried an air of finality, so, the meeting having been concluded, everyone dispersed. 

Olivière breathed in and let everything that had happened just sink in. As it all flooded in, his head felt much heavier. Maybe he needed a drink as well. But he had to attend to his Halamshiral studies, first, to ensure he didn’t actually need an ornamental dragon skull on his attire the day of the ball. He passed Varric and Solas, giving both a greeting, before walking up the spiral steps to the library. He stopped, seeing Dorian in the corner of his eye, and he glanced over at him. He sat in his armchair, lazily reading a book on his lap, taking pauses to glance up at the ceiling and sip his wine. He seemed very disgruntled by something. But Olivière could not walk up to him and confront him about it. He still felt like greeting him was a bit too forward, despite all their previous correspondence. Truthfully, Dorian gave him odd feelings in his gut. He thought it best to avoid those feelings.

He must have been staring for some time, because soon Dorian caught his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment before Olivière jerked his head away. 

“Inquisitor-” 

Olivière hurried away to a bookshelf space in front of him before Dorian could continue. He breathed in, staring at the wall. Fiona peered over at him in curiosity.

He closed his eyes and calmed himself, and his mind eventually traveled back to the dreams.

Floating. Free. And then the forest. All of his worries of feeling lost, unfit, vanishing when he saw the peaceful interactions of the elf and the human. 

These dreams had started the night he returned from the Fade. The Nightmare had toyed with his insecurities- of being an elf and the Inquisitor, of the responsibilities of being the Herald, and the spiders, some of which had managed to crawl onto his body and make him squirm. The memories, too, he regained. 

He had been reminded of who he was. When he was taken prisoner and shoved into the Inquisition, he had let all self awareness go. Was he an elf? Human? Hybrid? None of it mattered. They were fighting to patch up a large crack in the sky. But with his memories regained, he had remembered. 

He found himself speaking more Elven around his peers, even more so to Solas. Not around Sera, she couldn’t have cared less - which actually provided Lavellan some comfort. All of his self awareness that had taken over his life before the Breach had returned to him like an avalanche plummeting onto his conscience. The Inquisitor had returned to Skyhold a sputtering mess.

“Are you alright, Inquisitor, are you sure you do not need anything?” A healer elf had asked. 

“N-no, serannas, Lethallan, I am just glad I am back v-vhenas, Mak- Mythal’s blessing.” The healer had walked away with an eyebrow raised, and Olivière hurriedly retreating to his quarters afterwards.

That night, he first had the dream. Whether it was a work of Corypheus, some leftover influence of the Fade, or the work of some kind spirits, he could not tell. But it gave him more comfort than he would’ve liked. This was something, he reflected with a hint of a grin on his scrunched-up face, he’d have to mention in his final battle with Corypheus. ‘Thank you for simultaneously making me feel like Halla fodder and a god in a delicate elf body. I, the Elvhen Inquisitor, will now punt your Elder arse-’ 

A chuckle from behind him did the job for him. 

There was Dorian, leaning against the bookshelf. “Look at you, praying to your gods for mercy, after catching the eyes of a man as handsome as I.” 

Olivière gradually peered his head around, trying his best in hiding a smirk.

“H-Hello, Dorian.” He hoped he didn’t notice how shaky he was. 

“Hello...” The mage dropped the flirtatious act and shifted his pose, with a gaze exhibiting concern. “Seriously, are you alright?” 

The elf frantically looked about the man to give himself ideas on what to reply with. His eyes met the wine chalice in his hand. “I think I, too, need a drink of wine. I’ve been having many troubling nights since my return.”

“Oh?” Dorian raised an eyebrow, seeming interested. 

“Yes... It’s something I will have to talk to Solas about, but I am fine. You- you continue your work, whatever it is you do-- Looking pretty-” Olivière grimaced at himself. “-Drinking,” He gestured to the cup. “Reading...” His voice trailed off. He managed a smile. “The Inquisitor’s work is never done.” 

Dorian smiled back at him, a soft but mischievous one. “I’ll do as you command, Inquisitor.” He stepped back, giving the other room to leave. “I do love watching you run around.”

Olivière looked at him gratefully, walking over and grazing his hand against the man’s wrist before hurrying over to the stairs and descending down. 

Dorian watched him go, lifting the chalice up to his mouth. When nothing came out of the cup, he peered down and saw he had run it dry. “A refill. I am not far gone enough.” He rubbed his forehead with a sudden heavy look of distress and descended down the steps to the wine cellar.


End file.
